A Black Swan's Bath
by Glyphron
Summary: Fenris has caught up with Elvauni Hawke as she flees for Weisshaupt with the wardens. He is eager to reunite with her, in more ways than one. (NSFW! smut warning.)


Varric's letter had arrived, carrying within it, a tide of great relief that had flooded Fenris some weeks ago. That is what had led him to this place in this moment.

He has caught her on the road, the Grey Wardens she escorts settled at camp not far from here. Elvauni herself has come slipping through the trees, a silent shadow, to the edge of the nearby spring. Like a lethal panther, wary of intrusion or ambush, she crouches at its edge and with delicate palms laps up a pool to sate her thirst. Pausing after to investigate her surroundings, lurk the borders of her territory. He watches her shift from the bank into the darkness beneath the leaves from afar, noticing how easily she fades from view. Disappears.

He thinks he will have to enter camp to have any chance of confronting her. But, a moment later she stalks back into sight at the waters crest again. Confident she is alone, her rigid vigilance falls away. Somehow, he has avoided her emerald eyes and is now privy to witness her undress.

Though scarred, her frame is lithe, elegant, her flesh pale and ghostly. But, that is part of her charm in contrast to her raven hair. He catches only a glimpse of his mistress and lover before she wades into the spring. Pressing through the crystal water with the grace of a swan. It presents opportunity, and he is lured like a wolf to his dark bird, true to his name sake. Taking his turn as the predator and on the hunt. A game, her capture the prize for winning.

As softly as he has the power to, he prowls to the wood's end at the pools lip. This is the furthest he can hide and he boldly wanders into the open. Displaying a smirk that boasts of how he is toying with her. She finds him quickly with the glimmer of her irises, having heard him long before spotting him. Her expression states she is unimpressed, her belly resting against the mud at the shorline, a hand over her daggers left on land.

She is poised half within the water's cover and half out, her muscles at the ready to leap into action. Her breasts peek out beneath the cowl of her arms and shoulders, while her hips bask, hiding, beneath the surface. And the curve of her back is left exposed, taunting.

He has learned to see past the white lines left by the cruelty of a whip. His vision now blind to any 'imperfections' attentive, instead, to the bare body of his temptress. To his wicked woman and he is hungry. It has been far too long since his arms have entrapped and enticed her into his affections. She easily sees the desires that flash through his mind, but she has not yet been ensnared in his grip.

Leaving her weapons abandoned, she slides back into the safety of the spring. Drifting far from reach. If her wolf truly wants a feast, he will have to prove his need. How desperate is he to taste flesh?

Desperate enough to follow, he makes it clear. He discards his armor, his tunic, trousers, everything. And dives in after her, charging through her rippling wake in the water. Chasing her further into the depths of her challenge.

The bulk of his taut muscles give him speed to surge through the currents, but her sleek shape offers her better freedom of movement. And she darts from his grasp, left and right, evasive of his hold. He takes to a new plot and sinks under, sparing no effort to push on faster. He erupts back through the glassy surface directly ahead of her, intercepting her path and cutting off escape.

With a flail and splash, she is his. He pulls her closer to shore. Keeping her mouth to his as they float the distance back. They do not bother climbing onto dry dust, but continue playing in her bath.

His teeth are at her neck, his free hand running over the horizons of her skin beneath the water. Before long, they find her core and stroke, tease. Circles are rubbed over her heat, the tender flesh behind tapped softly as he sleuths out her entrance with his other fingertips. When discovered, he presses the end of his index finger upon it. Igniting the flame that weighs on her breathing.

He fiddles, not yet sheathing it inside. Not yet.

His tongue enters her first, tasting her mouth as he quiets a moan. Only after he has indulged himself with the taste until her sighs cannot be silenced does he slip the length of his finger, ever slowly, as deep as it can go. And, when it reaches it's limits, he keeps it in a flurry of motion, back and forth with haste and finesse. His left arm still around her, he cradles her back so it arches, bringing her breasts up for air.

His tongue tastes the tender pink buds at their glory next. Draping each, and curling to embrace them as he flicks it across. Her cries echo in his ears, coming through even when she bites her lip to stop them. She writhes and twists, her heart athunder. Her breath a heavy and wild wind, and her eyes flashing like lightening with passion.

His finger takes her with a new sensation as he let's his mouth loose over every inch of her that resides above the surface. It streaks out from her center and pierces in again in vast repetition, quickly and decisively.

Her nails graze his back, her legs snaking around his waist. They tie her to him, throb against him pressing her femininity to his manhood, even as he bolts his finger in and out. She is all but begging now.

Their absence from each other has been long, and they cannot bear to wait any longer. He replaces the dexterity of his finger with the girth of his masculinity.

He takes it slow and careful, allowing her particular moisture to wash his length. Offering up gentle thrusts until there is more of that than water between the sources of their desire, to keep from the pain of too much friction. He is a tender lover and works up to a pleasurable pace for the both of them, keen on what her sounds tell him. He does not pull back very far in his thrusts to keep the water out and him inside, his focus on vexing her with depth.

He pushes, pressing and pressing. Reaching and taking them further and further. Relentless in his pursuit of sensation and ever steady. His rhythm brings her too far, and she breaches her climax.

"Don't give in, Hawke," he whispers in a gasp, "Wait for me."

Her resistence is voiced with a louder melody of pleasure. He gives his best to appease her, reward her for her patience. Within another moment he has worked himself to his end. And they share the thrill of such ecstasy together. Their cries of triumph traveling far from their tryst. Resounding through the wilds like a primal song.

Trembling, they cling to each other, unable to part from one another's embrace. Not yet ready. Eventually, she will have to return to camp. But, for now, they are free to soak in leisure. Skin against skin, keeping warm in the cool waters of their pool.


End file.
